


si vis amari, ama

by Hell_on_Wheels



Category: The Folk of the Air - Holly Black
Genre: Cardan writes another groveling letter, F/M, Letters, Love Letters, Roses, Spoilers for Book 2: The Wicked King, Spoilers for Book 3: The Queen of Nothing, well as much as cardan can try
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:29:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21975124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hell_on_Wheels/pseuds/Hell_on_Wheels
Summary: “But he who dares not grasp the thornShould never crave the rose.”― Anne Bronte
Relationships: Jude Duarte/Cardan Greenbriar
Comments: 5
Kudos: 64





	si vis amari, ama

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: This was born out of me looking at the roses on the dinner table and being like 'hey withered roses are kinda funky' and my mind jumping to the Cardan Letters™
> 
> in any case, please enjoy a healthy of "cardan really just wants jude back"

Jude,

You may wonder - or, rather, won't wonder, seen as you've ignored all my other letters - why I endeavour to send yet another one. Jude - my sweetest poison, my bitterest honey, you cannot begin to imagine how much I miss you. Everything I see, I feel, I hear - it leaks of _you._ The sweat that permeates the colosseum, the swords that hang, rusting, and the very crown that sits heavy on my brow - it all reminds me of you. It was roses, the gentlest perfumes, that enchanted me into writing this ridiculous letter. I can't even imagine who thought it was best to bring roses before me, in _my_ gardens. Roses, whose ephemeral lives last a millionth of a second compared to the flowers I grew up with, whose reds would only remind me of the blood of my family, who screamed of being mortal and human. 

I passed them by _every single day,_ no matter how hard I tried to avoid them. They were everywhere, Jude, and they all died in the same way. In the core of my being, I knew I could wave a hand and they would be back to their blooming scarlets or their unscathed whites, but I _couldn't._ Something in me - something that _you_ planted in me, the thing that made my cruelty melt and my heart soft - stopped me. Because it would've been heartless, no? To force a flower to live past its life, to stretch its beauty for my own selfishness, to let it live even though it should be dust.

And. So, I watched them die. I watched the tips turn to black, turn to ash, saw the petals peel off one by one, the heads drooping like a prelude to a decapitation. And they reminded me of you. You will find me...monstrous for comparing you to roses. But - you are the very epitome of these roses. You burst in reds that stain the whites, you are protected by your thorns, a fiercely beautiful rose whose death will outlive their life.

I realize, after having penned such words, how evil I must seem. I urge you not to take this as me mocking your mortality: rather, I want to use this to plead my case. Please come back to Elfhame. I want to enjoy your fleeting beauty, your intoxicating scent, and most of all your thorns that make you more beautiful than anything found in _this_ ceaseless realm, because your imperfections make your everything shine brighter, whereas mine will only make me a murkier figure than I already am.

I feel as though I haven't really made my point. Let me try again: I love you, Jude. I love you, and _will_ love you, forever and ever, even after you die, and after I die as well. Please. Come back to Elfhame. I'll beg on my knees, burn the crown, destroy the throne, punish those that have wronged you, I'll give my life in exchange for yours, just, please, come back to Elfhamd.

I know I have failed in not coming off as a drunk sodden mess, and you will continue torment me with your absence. I am aware that forgiveness does not come easy, and I have done nothing to deserve yours. Still, if you are going to brush me off, do so with the crown on your head. Do so with the regal importance of a queen, because although it is not a queen that has forgiven me, you will still be close to me, sharing my throne.

You refuse to come home, and I will take refuge in the idea that even if you don't like me enough to come to Elfhame, you care enough about me to resent me.

I imagine you must think I hate you. None of the sort. Even if you take my words as a jeer against your being - I hope you are doing well.

Cardan

**Author's Note:**

> (so i just remembered val moren was a thing - did he live long? was that the high king's doing? fuck.)


End file.
